JUNE 2005

> JAIL TIME | alysia teller

Wood grain panels
host the knots
and lines
and creases
of years' life
cut away by death.
Windows with blinds drawn
tight against the outside reality
shelter dreams too fragile
to be let go today.
Maybe tomorrow...
maybe the day after...
Ceiling tiles are stained
with something unknown,
one of those somethings
like you find in hotels;
something that you don't know,
but you do know you don't
want to ever know what it is.
The room is made of wood panels,
and closed windows, ceiling tiles,
and brown, shagged carpet.
It wiggles like a worm
in the AC's breeze,
but beneath your feet it crushes
against itself to flee the weight,
you've pressed onto it.
There is something hiding
between the fibers of each
shaggy, chocolate clump.
You stumble over it,
not knowing or caring
what the hindrance may be.
I never took you for a wanderer,
but in this room you wander
blindly from corner to corner,
never knowing why
you cannot get out.
I know why you're trapped.
The room is life,
and to you that is a prison.
The blinds are bars to reality,
And the walls barricade growth.
Your ceiling tiles keep down
the imaginative flight
you'd otherwise dare to take.
The shag carpet is your manacle,
holding you back,
keeping you chained to the floor.
You know your prison
was self built by fear,
and willingly you committed
yourself to a life-time sentence.
You don't see that you are
up for parole,
and the committee
of your split personas
will let you go forever
if you take the steps to free yourself
by first believing that you can.

> BIOGRAPHY | about the author

Alysia Teller is a young artist, aspiring writer, and part-time horse trainer from Hardinsburg, Kentucky. Writing has provided her with escapes, answers, questions, theories, aggravations, and above all else, sanity. She plans to attend Western Kentucky University with majors in pre-veterinary medicine and horse science. The arts will always be an integral part of her life.